Window of Opportunity
by trufflemores
Summary: 2.11. Barry gives up his chance to take down Eobard to save Cisco.


"Catch me if you can."

Last words. They're oddly fitting.

Barry throws the Reverse Flash up against a wall, feeling a savage vindication ripple through him. The Reverse Flash is strong and his suit feels like it's made of _steel_ , but he's breakable, _he's got to be_ , and Barry isn't going to give up. The Reverse Flash doesn't deserve to torture themany longer. He's already ruled _fifteen years_ of Barry's life, _ruined_ his life. He deserves to die. He deserves to die. He deserves to die.

It's a mantra he repeats to himself to keep him on his feet. Holding Eobard Thawne up like it costs him nothing, he feels like _Zoom_. He feels – breathless, powerful, intoxicated. It's easy to take out his rage that was _locked_ in a _box_ for almost a year, to ignite it.

It's time _to put an end_ to this.

He doesn't _know_ how to kill a person, but he can _learn_ ; he doesn't have the courage, but he can _hold his ground_ ; he doesn't have the heart, but _he can_ try.

His fists falter-stutter-fold when he feels ribs crack. Some cowardly side of him rears instinctively _away_ from it: he remembers in a flash Oliver's impassive look as heat surged through him.

 _You tortured that guy_.

The revolution is coming, rationality is going to break free and he's going to _stop_ , but rage is fast, always faster, run-Barry- _run_ , and in the moment it's easy to sink his fists in. To think _break_ - _break_ - _break_ , like the Reverse Flash is a nightmare, a monster, someone Barry can't kill no matter how hard he _tries_.

Every punch burns, lights him on fire, and he will burn to the ground before he admits defeat.

And he's _going_ to take the Reverse Flash with him.

"Barry, stop!"

His fists _ache_. His teeth do, too, clenched hard enough he's surprised he doesn't crack a tooth. He's breakable, too, but he won't let the Reverse Flash have that satisfaction.

"Bar, you've got to stop!"

He's snarling openly because it's like asking him to kill her again, don't you get it, _I let her die_ , I can't let this happen again, I can't let Eddie's death be for nothing I can't let him hurt people I can't-I-can't-I-can't—

" _Bar_!"

He hits the Reverse Flash so hard he breaks his hand, clocking him across the jaw and knocking him down. Out cold.

 _You couldn't do it_.

He can almost see Dr. Wells' _smile_ , the way he looks Barry in the eye before killing his mother because Barry is nothing, Barry can't _stop him_.

He can only watch.

Growling, he tells them to have a cell ready, shutting off the comm before anyone can respond.

His hands _shake_ with the need to end it. He doesn't know how he would do it – except he does, his hand vibrating hard, hovering over Eobard Thawne. It would be over in seconds. _Everything would be okay_.

To hell with Harrison's prediction. His mom might be _alive_ if he ends the Reverse Flash's life before he ends hers. The Reverse Flash was destined to die – Eddie erased himself from the timeline, _Eddie died for you_ – and Barry had the opportunity to make it happen.

He could almost see a shadow of Eddie standing across the alley from him. Felt something – dissolve. Some hidden emotion quietly die, leaving only pain and horror and _grief_ in its wake.

He looked Eddie in the eye, and felt every fiber of his being ache with apology.

 _I'm sorry._

With a groan torn between anguish and rage, he lifts the Reverse Flash over a shoulder. Carries him back to Star Labs. Puts him in a cell – _throws him down, not gentle, taking care to smack his shoulder hard against the concrete,_ any _vindication_ – and walks away.

Then he looks at his shaking hands.

He sucks in a deep breath, feeling tears on his face. Grief sweeps over him, outlined in sharp, painful red. In _failure_.

 _I wasn't strong enough._

 _I couldn't kill him_.

None of them say anything. For once, they seem at a loss for words. Even Cisco – irrepressibly humorous, look-on-the-bright-side Cisco – has nothing to say.

It's like flat-lining. Looking at Harrison's blank expression only intensifies the feeling.

Barry feels sick, out of place.

Then Joe is there. Joe doesn't say anything, either. It's a kindness: there is no rebuke. No _how could you_. No _why?_

Instead, he puts an arm under Barry's shoulders. It's like a dream; none of it feels real. Not even the anger cooling under his skin. The metallic hues of the particle accelerator blend together in his mind, just like the voices murmuring in the background, fading with distance. He's aware that they're walking down the hallway. Barry's mouth is too dry for words, for apologies, for justifications, for _Joe, I saw him, I saw Eddie, I—_

They're back in the cortex. Barry doesn't twitch.

Joe says his name. Twice.

 _I couldn't kill him_.

He digs his hands into his hair, prowling to a corner like a wolf, folding his arms across his chest. Staring at the hint of his reflection in the glass and wondering who the hell he even thinks he _is_ , going up against people like the Reverse Flash, like _Zoom_.

He can't stop them.

He could never stop them.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he doesn't flinch when Joe says, "Bar. You did the right thing."

He grunts softly in acknowledgment. Can't turn to look at him. Doesn't have the dignity to even ask for forgiveness.

 _Doesn't deserve it._

( _Eddie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.)_

 _((Mom . . . . ))_

He needs to stop _crying_ , dammit.

"What you did took more strength than _anyone_ has _any_ right to ask of you."

"I'm not strong." His voice rasps, worn, sandpaper thin. "Joe. I'm not. And—" Turning to face him because _to hell_ with humiliation, to hell with letting his life be ruled by a man who he despises, Barry finishes, "And I'm never going to _be_ strong enough to beat him, _or Zoom_."

"It's not about strength," Joe says firmly.

Barry huffs softly. "'Not about strength.'" He reaches up, presses his hands to his eyes. "That's _exactly_ how it felt when he broke my back."

"Bar." Joe steps closer. "You got your ass kicked. _Everyone_ gets their ass kicked. But what you did _today_ is what makes you a hero."

Footsteps approach, relieving Barry the duty of explaining to Joe why he should never have put on the suit in the first place. He's still wearing it, like a soldier struggling to find his identity outside of the warzone. Easier to just keep up appearances. Stick with it.

Hold his ground.

What do you do? What do you do when the man who ruined your life works alongside you? What do you do when the man who ruined your life is alive in a _cell_ because you didn't have the courage to kill him? What do you do when the man who ruined your life was destroyed because a friend gave up _everything_ because you weren't strong enough to defeat him yourself and you only got one shot and you _fucked up_?

What do you _do_ when all of these people exist in the same person? Except none of them exist in the same person, yet inevitably he's going to lose to _all of them_.

Harrison steps into the room.

Barry stares at him. _Can I trust you?_

With that implacable stare, that immovable stance – it's hard not to impose the suit on him. Not to see burning red eyes.

 _You will never be truly happy, Barry Allen._

But he made a promise to himself. He _let that go_.

He said, "I forgive you."

He _forgave_ Harrison Wells for Eobard Thawne's crimes.

 _But can you trust him?_

Everyone gives off an aura – it's subtle enough Barry doesn't pick it up unless they're either a) a speedster or b) a close friend – but Harrison's is hard to read. Somewhere between cool and calculating and comradery.

He's never going to be a close friend. But he can be an ally, a partner, a teammate.

Barry can live with that.

And, exhaling slowly, he realizes he can live with Eobard Thawne in a cell. A place where he can't hurt anyone anymore.

Every action comes at a price. Dr. Wells taught him that. No matter how minute the crime, there is a punishment. The key is to minimize the damage. Some actions generate greater ripple effects than others; keeping a spiral contained is essential.

And Barry knows finality would not bring peace. _It would not end there_.

Killing the Reverse Flash wouldn't erase his crimes. Nothing could do that.

Time was only so mutable. And he'd made his choice that night.

Still – God, still – he can't stop himself from saying it. From asking to see Eobard Thawne.

They try to discourage him, but none of them can actually _stop_ him.

Looking into the face of the man who ruined his life, Barry feels that rage resurface. That _power_. The heady notion that he could kill if there wasn't a wall between them.

It's tempting. It's very, very tempting.

But Barry sees their faces. Joe. Cisco. Caitlin. _Iris_.

And his hands are steady. His teeth are bared, his claws out, ready for a fight, but he's in control.

What the Reverse Flash did to his past was unforgivable. But he doesn't get to keep Barry's future, too.

 _This isn't a win_ , he thinks, _but I can live with it_.

At the end of the day: that's enough. Sometimes it's not about what you want. It's always about what you can stand.

What you can live with.


End file.
